Flying Lessons
by Althea Snape
Summary: Sherlock gives Molly flying lessons. Hints of Sherlolly.


Disclaimer:I don't own any of the characters, or the setting. All credit goes to the writers of Sherlock, and JK Rowling

Plot: Potter!lock. Sherlock gives Molly flying lessons...

A/N: Just a short one-shot.

* * *

**Flying lessons**

"Remind me why we're doing this again…" Molly asked, for the umpteenth time, and Sherlock looked at her exasperatedly.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Molly. The headmistress considers it an appropriate 'bonding activity' and as you know, we must all cater to her whims," Sherlock replied, with a frown. "Besides, it is beyond obvious that the true reasons for holding this event is her wish to improve student morale which is, expectedly, low since the events of the last… MOLLY! Get back on your broom right now!"

At some point during his rant, Molly had decided to dismount from her broom and had slowly began backing away. She sighed, and slowly put her legs over her broom again.

"I don't see why I have to take part, though. I'm not a professor. I'm just a healer, and a bloody good one at that, so why don't you just let me stick to what I know?" she said, with a pout. She knew she sounded childish, but at this point she was willing to do anything to get out of flying.

"No, Molly, you are not a professor," he said, as if speaking to a young child, "but as I have already told you _thirty-seven times_, you are a currently a member of the Hogwarts staff, and you are the only remaining Hufflepuff staff member who is physically able enough to take part."

"Who says I'm physically able?" she huffed. "Sherlock, I can barely walk two steps without tripping. You say yourself that you have never met anyone as clumsy as me. Do you really trust _me, _and on a _broom_, of all things?"

He sighed. "I'll admit, I have my apprehensions," he admitted, and she immediately took this as a positive sign.

"Great, just share your apprehensions with McGonagall, and I'm sure- " Just as she made to get off her broom again, he grabbed hold of her wrist, and pulled her towards him slightly. She blushed at their close proximity, and at the way the warmth of his hands seeped into her skin, but he seemed not to notice.

"Molly, you are trying my patience," he growled. "In the normal circumstances, I would have readily  
told the headmistress everything, in fact for the safety of all involved, I would have ADVISED her to forbid you from playing. However, this is a question of my pride, my self respect, Molly. Do try and understand. John and Lestrade will be insufferable if the Gryffindor-Slytherin team win the match. We MUST win. And therefore YOU must play. There is no alternative."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither willing to back down, before Molly finally gave in, realising she wasn't going to win. That was it. She would never be attracted to him again. He was a bastard, after all. He didn't care about her safety, he just cared about winning, and so what if she broke a few bones in the process?

In an attempt to retain what remained of her dignity, she asked, with a small frown, "Alright, what do I have to do?"

"Hmm," Sherlock nodded, letting go of her hand with a self satisfied smirk, and she stuck her tongue out at him as he turned around to fetch his own broom. How could she ever have been attracted to that smug arse?

They stood side by side with their legs over their brooms, Molly's hands shaking as she gripped the handle tightly.

He gave a small put-upon sigh (which she found in no way attractive) and came closer, so their legs were almost brushing.

"Molly, I am aware you are not an expert flier, but surely even one as oblivious as yourself should know that the idea is not to murder the broom, and therefore strangling the handle will, in no way, aid your survival while you are in the air." Bastard, she thought.

However, the harshness of his words was lost somewhere as he leant over and gently loosened her grip on the handle. He seemed to keep hold of her hands for just a second longer than necessary, and even he realised it, as they both looked up to meet each other's eyes.

The moment (if it could be called that) was broken, however, as a drop of water fell on his cheek, and ran down the length of his face, before finally sliding off his jaw.

"It's going to rain," she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's only a light drizzle," he replied in a deep voice, and Molly shivered (because it was cold, she told herself).

"But still, perhaps we should-" she froze mid-sentence as he raised his finger, stopping just before he touched her lips. As he did so, the movement of air tickled her nose, leading to her sneezing loudly.

They both immediately turned to face forwards, and Molly heard him muttering something under his breath, something which sounded suspiciously like "focus", though she couldn't be sure.

"Right," he said, somewhat louder than necessary, given that they were barely a foot apart. "Right. Now, you need to spread your legs. Um…" Molly swore his cheeks reddened slightly, but she herself was blushing so furiously that she could hardly tell. Perhaps it was the cold. "What I mean to say is, just widen the gap between your feet. Good. Now, lean forward - no. Don't just bend. Lean. Keep your back straight, but just increase the pressure on your palms."

"Like this?" she asked, leaning forward, and he inhaled deeply, as if he had almost given up hope of being able to help her.

"No, Molly," he said, moving closer to her yet again. "You need to keep your shoulders straight." Saying this, he proceeded to put two palms on her shoulders, and guide her into the required posture, before he realised he was touching her again, and quickly pulled his hands away.

"Um, now what?" Molly asked, trying to diffuse the tension which had built up between them.

"Now," he replied, not meeting her eyes, "you have to push off the ground with the gentleness of a walk, but make sure you push off with both legs at once because otherwise-"

But before he could finish his warning, Molly had, in true Molly fashion, kicked off one leg after the other, and she was lifted about four feet into the air, broom spinning wildly around, before it tilted back, and she slid off.

"Aaahhhh… oomph."

She landed with a thump on something soft, and it was only as she heard a groan beneath her (which was in no way sexy) that she realised that the soft bundle which had broken her fall was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

She rolled off him, and he immediately handed her her broom again. As he lectured her on how her carelessness could cost him an eye, she zoned out and looked at his face. She couldn't stop the giggle which escaped her, as an image of him lying sprawled across the floor came unbidden into her head again. He paused in what he was saying and gave her a frustrated look.

"Molly, I'm sure you have the rest of the day to ponder over what amuses you so much, but for now- wha-" he trailed off, as she reached up to remove a twig which was stuck in his hair, and as she pulled it out, she accidentally dragged it down his cheek, leaving a white scratch.

"Oh, sorry," she winced, and ran a finger lightly over the scratch. "Hope it doesn't hurt too much."

He blinked twice, before swallowing. "Focus!" he said, but Molly got the distinct impression he was talking to himself as well as her.

He repeated all of his instructions, and Molly absently wondered when he had become so patient with her. However, knowing his patience wouldn't last much longer, this time she paid close attention to his words.

Of course, she knew he was a good teacher, but this was just further proof. His instructions were so perfect that at the end of the evening, even Molly Hoper, possibly the clumsiest person in the school, was feeling comfortable flying. Admittedly it was a relatively sedate pace, but it was flying all the same.

As the evening progressed, they began to race around the skies, and the more time they spent in the air, the more Molly's confidence improved, so much so that, had she been willing, she would have been able to keep up with Sherlock's pace. However, she found that for some strange reason, the victorious grin on Sherlock's face every time he won was consolation enough (and she told herself that the view she got of Sherlock played no part in encouraging her to remain behind).

Even Sherlock allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk every now and again, and he glanced at her as if she was a challenge he had conquered. She tried hard to be annoyed with him for that, but could not stop herself finding the way the corners of his mouth turned up slightly endearing. But only slightly…

However, in all the time she had spent getting to learn the basics of flying, what had previously been a 'light drizzle' was on its way to becoming a heavy downpour.

"Perhaps we should continue this another time," Sherlock said, his face showing that he admitted that the rain had become more than a minor inconvenience.

However, by the time they had flown down, and gotten inside the castle, they were completely soaked.

"I told you it was going to rain," Molly told Sherlock, as she wrung out her hair.

"Yes, you told me 5 hours ago, and we have been perfectly fine until the last 20 minutes!" he exclaimed.

"What if I get a cold, though?" She argued. "What if I'm so ill that I can't play in the Quidditch match later-"

"Molly! You'll be fine. You are a healer, after all. I'm sure you haven't forgotten that a simple Pepper-Up will cure a cold?" He raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed at the mistake. "And here I was thinking that you had actually begun to enjoy flying," he added, more to himself than anything else. It was clear from his expression that he felt that his own achievement had been undervalued because of her statement, and for some unknown reason, she felt the need to remedy that.

"It's not… _entirely_ a waste of time, I grant you," she said, looking away as she felt this eyes boring into her. "And I suppose if the correct safety precautions are taken, it isn't always life-threateningly dangerous."

As she turned to look at him, she swore she saw a light smile gracing his face, but she couldn't be sure, as he quickly schooled his features into his usual neutral expression.

She didn't look away this time, wondering how far their relationship had come, from the time when she would try so hard for his attention and he would ignore her, to now, this playful camaraderie. They were friends, she decided.

He didn't look away either, and there was something missing from his eyes, the usual coldness, the detached demeanour. In fact, there was something almost fond in the way he looked up and down her face.

"Ahem," came an exaggerated cough from behind, and they both turned to see John and Lestrade standing there, grinning. As Molly and Sherlock saw them, John immediately pretended to swoon, and Lestrade caught him.

Molly giggled at their antics, while Sherlock just rolled his eyes, though Molly could tell he was amused.

"Alright, enough with the romance. Go and get changed now, lovebirds," John said, with a grin, and as they simultaneously began to protest, he just pushed them out.

"In your own rooms please. Wouldn't want any funny business!" Lestrade shouted after them, and Molly whirled around immediately.

"Greg! There are students around!" she exclaimed, but the two had already made their way into the great hall for dinner. She frowned, and turned around, to find Sherlock had gone.

She shook her head, with a smile, and made her way to her own room, eager to have a nice warm bath.

* * *

Please review! x


End file.
